


Blood Runs Cold

by aliciutza, Dragon_and_Direwolf, LustOnMyFingers



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azor Ahai Prophecy | The Prince That Was Promised, F/M, Fated Lovers, Jonerys, Night King Jon, Night Queen Dany, Prophecy, Romance, Smut, Soulmates, The Others - Freeform, The lands of always winter, White Walkers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:35:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliciutza/pseuds/aliciutza, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_Direwolf/pseuds/Dragon_and_Direwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LustOnMyFingers/pseuds/LustOnMyFingers
Summary: Trapped for days by an ice storm beyond the Wall, Jon Snow finally succumbs to the cold. A beautiful blue-white ghost follows him into his dying dreams and reveals that the Others aren't quite what they seem.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 57
Kudos: 182





	Blood Runs Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheScarletGarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScarletGarden/gifts).



> Hope you didn't think we'd let this day pass without a gift from your wives, Scar! It's tradition 😁!
> 
> This fic was inspired by a number of things: book canon nostalgia, shared love for asoiaf magical elements, and the cold. Because unlike Elsa, it turns out that the cold DOES bother all three of your wives 🥶.
> 
> Happy birthday!!! We love you so so sooooo much *squeezes you in a group hug*
> 
> The gorgeous art was drawn by [dragonanddirewolf](https://dragonanddirewolf.tumblr.com/), of course 😏 (please show her some love and make sure to follow her new [Instagram page](https://www.instagram.com/dragon_and_direwolf/)!)
> 
> The dick metaphors are _mostly_ unintentional. The icy tiddies, however, are _very_ intentional.

* * *

It was snowing the night they burned Craster’s Keep. But clear enough, still, to scout from atop Osric’s Hill. A thick plume of smoke rose from just one fire—the one they’d set themselves. Jon’s heart, already heavy with the loss of five brothers, sank further. Mance Rayder and his armies were nowhere to be seen. He knew what it meant at once. A storm was coming.

An icy wind cut through his cloak like a blade. It rustled through the trees and whispered in his ear.

 _You don’t know cold_.

What was meant to be a two-day trip grew into a week. Grey clouds cloaked the night sky, not a single star above to guide them. Even the moon glowed dimly, like the last burning ember in a dying fire. The days were white. There was no telling where the horizon ended and the snow began.

Sixty miles of wilderness stretched between Craster’s Keep and Castle Black. And choosing the wrong direction could put them sixty miles further from home. So they set up camp—food scarce and supplies low. A rank of soldier pines shielded them from the wind on all sides, tall and shadowless.

At night, the woods were silent as the dead. Shadows lurked around untethered, and eyes watched unseen—raising hackles and keeping the men from sleep. Yet it called to them from the cold—promising nourishment and warmth, wine and women, whatever a man’s heart desires, so long as he drifts off...

Jon sat awake and clenched his chattering jaw. Stared out through frozen lashes and hugged his knees. Just when his vision began to blur, he saw it.

A ghost gliding through the trees.

Its hair and skin were pale as milk, eyes bright like two purple stars. A gown hung from its shoulders and hips, the fabric unlike anything he’d ever seen—rippling like moving water and reflecting the trees. And when it opened its mouth to speak—it sounded less like words and more like the strange echoes from beneath a frozen sea.

 _It doesn’t hurt to freeze to death_ —or so he’d been told. It’s like falling asleep.

He closed his eyes.

If he had but one final dream, he was happy she would be the last thing he’d ever see.

And in that moment, the world went dark. Gone were his brothers, the woods, their snow-laden branches, the smell of pine. All was eerily silent. No wild animals scurrying across the snow, no howling of wolves or wind. No more angel of death or her haunting song.

The first thing Jon noticed was that his body no longer felt his. For a moment, he thought he might’ve frozen. Yet, when he tried to open his eyes, they still did—he just couldn’t feel his eyelids flutter or the tickle of lashes on his cheeks.

Above him, thousands of sparkling stars twinkled where before there’d been none. But what made his breath hitch were the glowing lights that danced across the sky. Purple and blue and green, gleaming and blending into new colours, bleeding into the tops of the trees and winding around the mountain peaks. 

It might’ve been the most beautiful thing Jon had ever seen, had he never seen _her_. But even this curtain of heavenly light paled next to her unearthly beauty.

_Come to me._

It was as if the thought alone had beckoned him, reaching it—his only goal. He stood to follow—no longer cold, just numb. The strange echoes lured him from the trees and across dead white plains to a lake. The ice cracked and moaned under his feet, splintered and formed a path straight ahead. Jon followed the trail to a cave—fit with giant icicles that hung from its mouth like fangs. A light shone at the end of the tunnel, a disembodied voice echoed from the dark walls.

_Come to me._

He emerged to a blue-white landscape, across which nothing moved but for the wind. There sat a fortress of ice, shining like a crystal, so bright he had to shield his eyes. Above, green lights danced tirelessly behind thick, dark clouds. Three large shadows streaked across the sky, encircling the lonely castle.

With a crack of its wings, one of the beasts plunged to the ground, letting out a screech that scraped his eardrums like icicles. Its shadow grew impossibly large, threatening to crash right where Jon stood. When he ducked it flew right past him, blue scales glittering in the moonlight. The ice dragon sailed into the blinding bright sky, the force of its enormous wings nearly pushing him to the frozen ground. 

_Come to me._

With a deep breath, Jon steadied his shaking body and marched on. Passed through the dark hollow and went inside. He followed frigid hallways to a chamber filled with tall, smooth columns of ice. The pristine clarity reflected a dozen or more pairs of eyes—a blue that burned like stars.

Beyond the pillars sat an ancient-looking throne, hard and jagged, its fanged ice white as snow. And upon it sat a familiar woman. Sharp shards of ice adorned the top of her head, glistening in the ethereal glow of the room. The fragments twisted to form a crown fit for a queen.

This time, when she parted her lips, he understood the words. “Long have we waited for you, my promised prince.” She opened her arms, broadly gesturing at their surroundings. “Welcome home.”

A flash of white from behind her made his hackles rise. A band of cold revenants slid forth on silent feet, their blue eyes glinting like a small constellation of stars. The men took measured steps, flanking their queen on each side. Chainmail hung from their gaunt bodies, the strange metal black as shadow and rippling with every step. In their hands were translucent spears and longswords, the crystal alive with moonlight.

Jon gaped at them. He didn’t know how, exactly, but he knew them at once. “Craster’s sons…”

“ _My_ sons,” she corrected. From her frozen seat, the queen rose.

“You stole them,” he accused, his own voice foreign to his ears, and not just because it echoed like cracking ice in the chasmal throne room. He hated to have even said the words.

She glided across the room, slowly eliminating the space between them. “I saved them.” 

“What for?”

Her smile should have chilled him to the bone. Yet, as they stood mere inches apart, all he could feel was her emanating warmth. 

“I took them in and gave them a home. I love them like my own,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious explanation.

“Love?” he asked, dumbfounded. All these years, Jon assumed Craster’s babes had met harm at the hands of the Others. He had never considered that the wraiths who came to claim them—had actually saved their lives.

Yet here they stood—loyal to their mother and queen.

“They needed me as much as I needed them. Only _I_ could give them the life they deserved.”

Jon shook his head. “I- I thought they were all dead...”

“They’re like me,” she explained. And with dainty fingers, she took his hand and pressed it to the hollow between her breasts. “Do I feel dead to you?”

Her skin was warm under his calloused palm. It filled and flooded him, like blood rushing to a sleeping limb—all numbness gone. All he knew was her: the steady heartbeat underneath his fingertips, the softness of her skin, the slight raise of her chest with every inhale.

He licked his lips. “You feel—” he began, pausing to search his mind for the words.

The queen placed a cold palm to his heart, too, and with one gleaming violet look, he knew she understood.

“ _Alive_ ,” she answered for him. “Like ice and fire.” A pale blue hand traveled over his leathers, up to grasp his chin. “My prince’s song.”

There it was again—that word. “I’m just a bastard,” Jon said, then gulped. The lump in his throat wouldn’t budge an inch as he finished confessing, “Not a prince.”

“Oh, but you _are_ ,” she insisted. “There’s power in you. Power to make life and light. Power to deliver a dying race from darkness.”

Though all his life he resisted it, Jon had always felt it deep down. Stirring in his blood and bones, straight down to his very soul. He was meant for something more.

Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes. A sweet scent, undoubtedly hers, filled his nostrils. Underneath, an almost smoky aroma lingered. 

Her lips ghosted over his. “By now, you must feel the pull as much as I do,” she whispered. 

Soft palms came to rest, like velvet, on either side of his face. The touch gentler than he expected. 

Though her lashes were white with frost, her violet eyes burned with desire. Jon could hardly fathom that anyone might look at him as if he was all they’d ever needed—but especially _her_. His eyes drifted to her mouth. It would be so simple to lean down and press his lips to hers. Though his internal struggle raged on, the queen’s patience never wavered.

Finally, he sighed his agreement. “Aye.”

“Don’t fight it.” 

As if he could.

His hands rose to grasp her hips. Jon hissed at the contact—realising then that the flimsy dress was cut to expose her bare skin. An icy tongue licked the seam of his lips, opening his mouth to taste him. Her blue lips shivered as they kissed, soft as the petals of a winter rose. 

She tasted like hot spice wine and mint. Like honey and cinnamon, pine, and icy wind. 

She tasted like home. 

The queen’s nails scraped through his tangled beard and hair, keeping her mouth sealed to his, their tongues intertwined in an almost familiar dance. 

Vaguely, he remembered the Others. When he pulled back to take in some much-needed gulps of air, he was startled to find they were alone in the icy room. 

She took his hand, leading him to her throne. With a flourish, she unclasped his cloak. Jon pushed it over his shoulders and laid it down on the frozen floor. 

Their lips came together again and again, their desire unyielding. Sharp nails slashed through the bindings of his leather jerkin, the queen pulling and tugging on his many layers, exposing as much of his flesh as she could find. 

When he was left in his breeches and boots, she stepped back. With a flick of her wrist, her dress fell to the floor. He took her in—all of her—pale skin, full breasts, moonbeam hair and kiss-bruised lips. 

Like a ghost she floated back to him. Traced whirling patterns over his shoulders and chest—the touch raising his skin in gooseflesh. She pressed her lips against his heart and sank to her knees. Lying on his fur cloak, she beckoned him down. 

With haste, Jon divested himself of his remaining clothing and joined her. 

She cradled his body between her thighs, pulling his lips to hers in a searing kiss that helped ward off the cold. Even under his knees, the ice never once seeped through the furs. Between their bodies, pale fingers wrapped around his hard length. Jon swallowed her hums of approval as she stroked him. 

Overwhelmed by the need to look at her as she took him in, Jon broke away. The ice queen nuzzled into his palm, stared into his eyes as he pushed into her slick heat. Her nails dug into his shoulder blades, marked his skin. Inside she burned, like ice, like fire. If this was death, then to hell with living.

Jon hooked one of her knees over his arm and thrust deeper, pushing his chest flat against her breasts. Between kisses, she’d cry out. The chamber echoed not with her voice, but that unearthly, ghostly moan. Each roll of his hips fogged his mind, making it hard to remember anything but her.

Wasn’t there somewhere he was meant to be?

 _Here_ , a voice inside his mind replied.

Wasn’t _someone_ out there waiting for him?—his mind pressed.

The queen bit his lower lip. All questions fell away as she clenched around him.

“Jon—” she moaned. 

Flashes of red hair, like flames, spread unwelcome through his mind. It was like coming up for air after being held underwater too long. With that sliver of clarity, he pulled out just in time to spill his seed between their bodies. 

She peered up at him through frosted lashes—eyes alight with both love and anguish. He knew at once he’d chosen wrong. 

Words, from many years ago, rang loud in his ears. 

_You cannot understand what you would be giving up._

Jon knew now what his oath had truly cost him. 

Somewhere above, the dragons screeched and shook him from the nagging thought. And again, darkness fell once more.

. . .

Jon gasped and lurched forward, face planted in the snow. 

He turned on his back. Daylight blinded him, his vision blurred with shining splotches of light. The clouds had finally cleared. Beams of warm sunlight bathed the small glade. Melting snow dripped from the pines, turning the hard ground wet with mud. He tried to move his body. Slowly tested his limbs, stretching as much as his stiff leather armor would allow. 

Body rigid, toes and fingers numb, Jon pulled himself up—half-surprised to find he’d made it through the night. The storm had shown him mercy, though the others had not been so lucky. A pair of his brothers lay beside him, bodies blue and lifeless.

There was no time to mourn, he knew. Without a storm to deter predators, he and his men would have to compete for food, or take the road home cold and starved.

And as Jon helped forage, his strange dream crept to the forefront of his mind. It was like one of Old Nan’s tales come to life, echoing one in particular—of a corpse queen with cold, moon-pale skin and eyes that burned like stars.

According to legend, she was the downfall of his ancient ancestor, whose very name—upon discovery he’d been sacrificing to the Others—had been since forbidden. Yet Jon couldn’t help but wonder—had the lives he surrendered, like Craster, lived and breathed beyond the Wall?

The queen’s fiery touch lingered. In his heart, he already knew the answer.

She was a ghost, though, nothing more. A curious dream risen from the cold.

Were that she was real, though. Like his ancestor, he might just give her his soul.

. . .

Night fell. Fast-moving clouds passed over the moon and cast living shadows on the forest floor below. It wasn’t safe, Jon knew—but he, and his men, still had yet to eat.

In the distance, Jon could hear Grenn’s gruff voice call out. He’d caught something. _Finally_ , Jon thought. At last, they could feast.

It was only a hare, but more than they’d eaten in days. The remaining brothers sat round the small fire as it cooked and crackled, stomachs growling in pain.

The growls intensified, sounding suddenly inhuman. Jon looked up to see a pair of glowing blue eyes. He didn’t know whether to feel relief or fear.

Heavy footsteps crunched in the snow. A white bear stepped forward from the trees, its hide spotted with patches of black, decomposing skin.

Before the men could react, it leapt forward and grabbed ahold of Edd, its unrelenting claws slicing straight through his cloak and leather sleeves. Screams and otherworldly growls ricocheted off the tree trunks and filled the air. Blood steamed in the cold, staining the snow a crimson so deep it looked black.

Iron swords didn’t stop the undead beast, or even slow it down.

With all the might he could muster, Jon shouted, taunting the bear away from his friend. He reached for Longclaw a moment too late. A huge paw swiped and sent him hurtling to the ground, knocking the wind right out of him. Jon held his chest as he struggled in the snow, gasped for air that wouldn’t come. The bear raised on its hind legs, ready to deliver the final blow.

Just as the beast let out another monstrous growl, an icy spear plunged into the back of its head and through its open mouth—the sharp tip just inches from Jon’s nose. Its blue eyes went out like a candle. This time it was good and truly dead.

The bear’s body crashed to the frozen ground, shaking the snow from the nearby trees. And, _finally_ , Jon could breathe.

His breath misted in the moonlight. Violet stars shimmered in the dark. A pale figure stepped forward, one he was sure lived only in his dreams—the Night’s Queen.

She offered a hand in a silent invitation and helped him to his feet.

This time, Jon didn’t hesitate. Oaths be damned—for fate was far more sacred. He pulled her into an embrace and claimed her lips for his. There was nowhere else in the world he belonged but in her frozen arms. And with his seed, he’d give her sons of her own, and all the daughters she wanted, too. He may be but a bastard by light of day, but the _night—_ the night was his to rule.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! ♥


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